Teddy Bear: Stuffed Gay Hairy Tiny

I have been going through my closet to sell some clothing I have way, way outgrown and need to admit that I am both embarrassed and incredibly turned on by the sheer magnitude that doesn’t fit me. The amount of skirts that wont slip past my thigh; shorts that now even the suggestion of buttoning is a silly joke.

Looking at some of my clothes, I cant comprehend I was once so small. I couldn’t fathom that I had gained weight at first and that has resulted in me forgetting where I started.

I cannot deny that I let myself go with so little regard, I didn’t even realize it was happening. Denial had wrapped itself around me. I made excuses for everything- even breaking not one but two office chairs. The delicious habits I had grown working from home had absolutely caught up with me, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t stop myself even if I had wanted to.

At first I was stuck in a loop of a lie that I could stop the habit, that it was only a habit and had not become a full blown food addiction. I’d try to convince myself after every meal that I could stop myself from gorging on the amount of food I was eating if I really, really wanted to..that I’d be full eventually. I just never hit that point, I never wanted to stop. I always wanted more- even then.

When I stopped being able to fit comfortably in my bath tub and outgrown even my baggiest clothing- I had no choice but be confronted by the sheer 50 pounds of weight gain. It maybe should have worried me, and honestly it would have horrified most peeople.

But I wasn’t scared, I was excited. In truth, it turned me on so much I am not sure I can describe it fully.

I realized my relationship with food had turned from ‘problem’ into something more desperate and visceral.

I cannot help but want more, more fat evidence of just how much I have given into gluttony and reminding me that no matter how hard I may have thought I wanted to keep my slipping grip on control, I was always meant to fall away completely into hedonism.

indulging and lazing about for days on end, losing myself in plates and plates of food to the point i didnt even realize a month had gone by.

every other thought slipped away except one singular purpose: eat.

usually when I turn in for the night, I’m pretty satisfied. oversatisfied, if you have anything to say about it. but tonight, long after we’d both fallen asleep curled into each other, I’ve been torn from sleep by hunger. a craving, really, but I’ve been pampered enough to believe the two are more or less the same.

I wanted ice cream.

Eat piggy eat....

They feed me, house me, provide for me and all I have to do is submit myself to their control. Make a complete pig out of myself 24/7.

I have to stuff myself to the brim daily, my belly taut - stuffed painfully full.

I must be naked at all times so that my consistent growth can be admired.

They can take turns feeding me until my belly is stuffed, tight and round.

They can even take turns using me like the fuckpig you’ve made me into.